


Green Carnations

by maylor39



Series: The Prince in the tower [1]
Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Background Relationships, Backstory, F/M, Getting Back Together, Getting Together, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, Period-Typical Homophobia, Prequel, References to Depression, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:41:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27710177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maylor39/pseuds/maylor39
Summary: This is a Prequel of my MayLor/QUEEN AU fanfic:The Prince in the tower.━━━━━━━━━ 𓈉 ━━━━━━━━━━ 𓈉 ━━━━━━━━━ 𓈉 ━━━━━━━━━━I’m Edmund. I’m 13. I fell in love for the first time. With another boy. Please tell me you’re not disgusted.I’m Edmund. I’m 30. I can’t believe that I’ll meet my first love again. Please be happy for me.I’m Edmund. I’m 33. I couldn’t have been happier. Please be happy for me and my lover.I’m Edmund. I’m 35. I....I’m Edmund. I’m 37. There’s a voice in my head saying that I should just end everything. I think that voice is right. Would you agree?I’m Edmund. I’m 40. What am I going to do with all these pain? Please tell me. Can someone help me? There’s that voice again...
Relationships: Brian May/Roger Taylor
Series: The Prince in the tower [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2026694
Comments: 5
Kudos: 12





	Green Carnations

**Author's Note:**

> **PLEASE DO NOT SEND FANFIC LINKS TO QUEEN MEMBERS, QUEEN’S FAMILY MEMBERS, FRIENDS, AND THE BOHEMIAN RHAPSODY CAST.**
> 
> **THANK YOU. x**

**_London, May 1939_ **

  
  


**T** he smell of freshly baked shortbread petticoat tails coming from the oven wafted through my nostrils as I pads downstairs, hearing my father calling my name.

“Edmund, son, come down here for a bit.”

I found him in the kitchen, dirty-white apron slightly covered with flour and a torque hat sitting on the top of his shaved head. The radio that he hung above him, on the weighing scale’s hook, is currently playing Frankie Masters’ _‘Scatter-brain’_. 

And next to him were two teenage boys that I do not recognize. They were all standing next to the flour sacks.

Daddy reached out to me as I walked closer to them, looping his arm around my shoulders. “Edmund, this is Michael and Arthur. They will be our new delivery boys starting today.”

“Hello,” the blond boy with bright green eyes greeted me with a small smile, while the brunette one just nodded at me.

By just looking at their faces and height, I figured out that they're a few years older than me. 

“Hello,” I greeted back, placing my hands inside my pockets.

“Okay. Now that you’ve met, let’s start working now, aye?” 

I wouldn’t call that as a proper introduction. But then my father clapped my back, signaling us to move.

As I was exiting the kitchen, to go back upstairs to get the keys of the bakery, I heard my father giving instructions to our two new, young delivery boys. Despite living in London for almost 20 years, my father still has that strong Scottish accent.

Daddy owns and runs a bakery that mostly sells Scottish breads and pastries. He’s quite known (since he’s the only one who sells Scottish breads and pastries around the area) so the demand everyday is high. And I feel that as I grow older, the business is also growing along with me.

Daddy is driven to give me the best life he could afford, and I am truly grateful for it. Mummy passed away six years ago because of leukemia when I was 7. She was a preschool teacher. I still miss her very much.

Mummy’s death made my father very workaholic; to the point that he’s been hospitalized once due to exhaustion. People around me said that I should be thankful that the grief caused my father to be a workaholic not an _alcoholic_. 

He has a girlfriend right now, though. Her name’s Angie. I think he’s finally serious with her because they’ve been together for more than half a year. Angie is a 35-year-old single mother of two toddlers, Edward and Sophie. Dad and Angie met at church. She’s quite a nice lady.

Today's Saturday, means that I have to help with the shop. At exactly 6AM, it’s finally open for the customers who are now lining up outside.

  
  


At lunch time, Suzy, one of the shop’s attendants, switched with me so I could eat lunch with Daddy. Daddy and I could only eat lunch together during weekends and holidays, but he always makes sure that we’ll have dinner together.

“Your Gran called me just now,” Dad said as he slices the roasted potato on his plate. “She wants us to visit. Da’ keeps on requesting.”

“We can go after my exams,” a picture of my Grandparents and their beautiful house by the lake pops in my mind. 

“I’m confident that you’ll do well as always, my dearest boy,” smiling at me, Dad looked younger. 

Mum said that when Dad was still young, he used to be one of the most good-looking lads she’s ever seen. I wouldn’t exactly disagree since I’ve seen his old photos. Also, he gave me his eyes; I’ve gotten endless compliments from people for my eyes… and my face.

After eating, I cleared up the table. Dad will have a quick rest before making another batch for the late afternoon.

“Give these to them once they’re back,” Dad hands me two pockets of coins.

“To who?” I asked.

“The delivery boys, Edmund. The new ones.”

“Oh… right...”

Then he disappeared upstairs to take a rest. Sometimes, I wonder if he still quietly grieves over Mum in the privacy of his room. 

  
  
  


──────────── · · · · ✦ · · · · ──────────── 

  
  


“Will you stop flirting with her?” Elizabeth, my girlfriend, kicked my foot under the wooden table as we were having lunch at the school yard. Her brown eyes looked like daggers.

We’ve only been going out together for two months, yet I’m already starting to feel bored and exhausted. 

_Are all girls in Year 8 like this? Is this how I’m going to spend my whole Year 8 with her? Is this how a first relationship should feel like?_

The sharp pain on my foot made me feel as if I’ve committed a crime, when in fact, I’ve only waved and smiled at Pattie, a girl from Year 10 who is a family friend of ours.

“I’m not flirting with her, Lizzie,” I insisted, trying my best not to get angry at her, chewing on my chicken sandwich instead.

“Well it looks like you two are. And you know that she fancies you,” Elizabeth grits her teeth, rolling her eyes towards Pattie’s direction. “I’m prettier than her, yeah?”

Swallowing, I nodded. 

Yes, Elizabeth is very beautiful. Lots of boys in my class —and even older boys from other classes— fancies her and openly would admit that they’re jealous of me for going out with her.

“Is it because we’ve already fucked that you do not like me anymore?” lip moving furiously, Elizabeth asked me with her eyes narrowed.

“C-Can you keep your voice down?” I asked, panicking with my voice hushed as I looked around, hoping that nobody heard what she just said. “And no. I still very much like you, Lizzie.”

“Then the only girl that you should look at is me.”

“Okay.”

When we first met, my impression of Elizabeth reminded me of the Holy Mother. Now, whenever she gets mad, especially with all the pettiest things, all I can see is Medusa.  
  


After school, as Lizzie and I are walking home together with our other friends and some classmates, I’ve spotted two familiar faces walking towards our group. They’re wearing the neighboring school uniform: my Dad’s new delivery boys.

“Hello,” the blond one was the one who greeted me first again.

“Hi,” I offered a small smile this time. 

I was pretty surprised knowing that they’re both attending a private school. _What’s their names again?_

“Oh! You’ve met already?” a blond girl, who is older than Lizzie and I, appeared and linked her arm around the boy. “I’m Michelle.”

“Pleasure. I’m Edmund.”

“Wow! Really, such a small world,’Chelle” Lizzie excitedly clings to me as well. “Our boyfriends knew each other already!”

_Oh… so Michelle and Lizzie knew each other?_

“Michael and Arthur are now working for Mr. Wyatt now, Lizzie,” Michelle bats her eyes at the blond boy. “Such responsible lads. Am I right, Michael?”

 _Oh… he’s Michael_.  
  
  
  


Two weeks later, I found myself swimming at the River Peck with Lizzie, our friends, Michael, Michelle, and their friends. There’s at least 15 of us. Our group is a mixture of younger and older teenagers. 

I was supposed to be preparing for the upcoming exams but I was dragged along by Lizzie. My girlfriend said that she wanted to “show me off” to some of her (older) friends who haven’t met me yet.

Though, it’s clear as day that the person who is really winning at this sort of twisted “show-off-your-boyfriend” game is no one but Michelle. 

I didn’t notice it at first because I wasn’t paying attention, but Michael is quite handsome. He’s also well-mannered, funny, and nice as well.

Lizzie is such a fool to think that a wimpy 13-year-old me can compete with a 17-year-old Michael. 

_Speaking of Michael, he’s about to approach me now…_

“Hey! You alright there?” Michael plops next to me in front of the campfire. His naked chest glistening with droplets of water.

“I’m alright,” I answered, watching him as he drapes himself with a towel. “The water is a bit cold. That’s all.”

“Is it? I find it warm. Maybe because I’m so used to the cold weather.”

“Where are you from?” I asked curiously. 

“Truro. Just moved here last year with my cousin,” Michael grabs a bottle of Guinness from the cooler. “Need to take care of my Nan. She pays for our school.”

“Oh, so you and Arthur are cousins?” I craned my neck to look at Arthur who is now smoking with the others under an ancient weeping willow.

A year and a half ago, it was reported that a man committed suicide by hanging himself on that same tree. It didn’t stop the people from going. On the contrary, people even started doing some ghost hunting at night.

“Yeah. My Dad and his Mum are siblings,” Michael explained. “You? Do you have any siblings?”

“No. I’m an only child.”

Michael’s mouth formed a silent ‘o’ and nodded. He then asked, “How come we haven’t met your mum?”

“Erm…” I awkwardly bit my lower lip after a long pause. “...my mum’s dead.”

“Oh fuck!” eyes growing wide, Michael almost chokes on his drink. “I’m so sorry! I have no clue, mate. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. It’s been six years.”

“Fuck! Sorry again,” Michael waves his hand while shaking his head. He sighed afterwards. He bit his lower lip, thinking. Then he said, “I still have both of my parents…but to me they’re dead.”

“W-What...” I asked, brows furrowing how Michael’s expression became cold and somewhat distant. “What do you mean?”

“My Dad’s a drunk while Mum’s an addict,” eyes now staring at the fire, Michael took another swig of his beer. “Being here helped me to escape that hell I used to call ‘home’.”

I couldn’t think of anything to say. What do adults say in these kinds of situations? 

The growing silence between us was filled with the sound of water splashing, Bechet’s _‘Summertime’_ being played on the radio my friend Tom brought, and the shrieking and laughter of the ones that are still in the water.

Michael was the one who spoke again. “So, how long have you two been together?”

“Huh?”

“You and your girl, I mean.”

“Couple of months...” I answered. “You and Michelle?”

“Roughly five months, I think?” with an unsure tone, Michael scratched the side of his head. Then, he turned his head to look at her. Michelle waved at us when she saw him looking. 

I shyly waved back. Michael didn’t wave, he just slightly raised his bottle.

What Michael said next surprised me. “I kinda want to break up with her.”

“... W-Why?”

Letting out a loud sigh, he picked up a stray dried stick by his foot and threw it to the fire. “I dunno. She’s just becoming too… _too much_.”

_Oh...Just like Lizzie…_

“Did you find another girl?” I asked the same question I normally hear from other people when someone says that they want to break-up with someone.

Michael turned his eyes back to me. He looks at me as if studying my face for a bit. The bottle’s lip stayed in front of his lips. “Not exactly.”

I averted my eyes, not knowing what to say again.

  
  
  
  


──────────── · · · · ✦ · · · · ──────────── 

  
  
  


Michael and I became good friends as days go by. I mean, Michael’s really warm and friendly with everyone. Even my Daddy likes him better than Arthur. Arthur is an okay lad, though. He’s just pretty quiet and just doesn’t smile as often.

Michael broke up with Michelle in the first week of June. I found out that he’s now seeing a girl from his class named Jane. I’ve met her a few times already. She has long dark brown hair and warm brown eyes. But I still find Michelle prettier than her. Only Jane is quiet and soft-spoken. A total opposite to Michelle’s loud and opinionated personality.

Also, Michael finally invited me to visit his grandmother’s house to just hangout, a month later.

“You live _here?_ ” my jaw dropped after seeing a huge house with a nice front lawn.

“Hey, it’s not my house,” Michael chuckles, shaking his head after seeing my reaction. “It’s my Nan’s late second husband’s house.”

While I’m waiting for Michael to unlock the front door, he continued, “Nan’s late husband was the bastard son of Henry Fitzalan-Howard, the Norforlk Duke.”

Not knowing who that person is, I just nodded mutely, excited to see what the inside of the house looks like.

Stepping in the foyer, the downstairs’ design reminded me of one of the houses I’ve seen on ‘ _Ann and Harold’._ The house’s scent was a mixture of mothballs, cinnamon sticks potpourri, and Ivory soap. I was a bit surprised seeing stacks of newspapers near the telephone table.

“Is Arthur home already?” I asked, following Michael.

Michael just shrugged and headed towards another room which I think is the kitchen.

Sat on the countertop, eyes closed and head slightly tilted back, we found Arthur. A girl kneeling in front of him, her lips around his—

“Jesus! Arthur, are you fucking _joking!_ ” Michael immediately blocked my view while shielding his eyes with his hand. “You have your own fucking bedroom and this house has two fucking bathrooms, you tosser!”

The girl lets out a frightened scream before dashing out the kitchen. I did not recognize the girl’s face when she passed by us. She was so in a hurry, she failed to fix her uniform back; her dark skirt tucked under her floral underwear. Seconds later, the front door slammed shut.

“I’m sorry. I thought you’re not going to be home today?” Arthur said. I heard him zipping up his pants.

“Whether I’m out or not, you know you shouldn’t get your cock sucked here! For fuck sake!”

“She insisted. Couldn’t say no to a blowie,” Arthur walked towards the sink then turned on the tap and started washing his hands. “Besides, Nan’s fast asleep upstairs.”

“You’re disgusting! What if it was Alice or Ursula or Aunt Maggie who walked in on you, you pig!?”

“Look, Mike, I locked the door—”

“Just shut the fuck up, will you!?” Michael sounded really angry and disappointed at the same time.

Arthur raised both of his hands, surrendering. “Again. I’m so, so sorry. Won’t happen again. Promise.”

“As it should,” Michael ordered. We both watched as Arthur did the walk of shame.

Letting out a loud sigh, Michael rubbed his face with his hands. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay,” I said quietly. 

Another loud exhale from Michael, “When I wished for him to be more confident… I did not wish him to be _that_ confident.”

“He must be confident…” I tried to crack up a joke to lighten up the mood. “...that she’ll give him a good head…”

It wasn’t funny at all, but Michael snorted sarcastically. Rolling his eyes with a small smile, he opened the refrigerator. “Drinks?”

We went upstairs to Michael’s bedroom after. It was quite spacious.

“Do you play?” I pointed to the guitar that is placed next to Michael's study desk.

“Yeah. Started playing when I was 8.”

“You must be pretty good then,” I commented, casually sitting on the edge of his bed, a bottle of beer in my hand. Michael was about to give me Ribena but he said ‘Fuck it! A single bottle wouldn’t hurt’.

“Yeah. I can teach you some simple licks if you want,” Michael offered as he places down some chips on his study desk. Then he takes out a chess board and some comics from his drawer and throws them beside me. “By the way, was it you who was playing the piano last Sunday?”

Swallowing the beer too quickly, I started coughing. “You heard me?”

“Yeah, mate. It was awesome.”

“Thanks,” I tried my bestest not to blush.

Then I told him that I learned to play the piano from my Nan— Dad’s mother. She’s a trained pianist before she became a History Professor. She’s retired now though. When Mum was still pregnant with me, she would always beg Nan to play a number every time she and Dad visit them in Scotland.

But the piece that Michael heard I was playing was Mum’s personal favorite: Schumann’s _‘Träumerei’_. As a tribute, I would always play it on the anniversary of her death. 

Michael listened to my story intently, as he normally would. His luminous green eyes fixated on me, and just me only. His face would light up whenever I talk about Mum and our holidays in Scotland. He’s the only young person around me who makes me feel confident to speak out and tell stories and share my opinions about things. 

_He…_ He makes me feel _feelings_ that I haven’t felt before.

I met his Nan at dinner time. She’s such a lovely and sweet old lady. Michael said that she’s quite eccentric once you get to know her. 

Every morning, Nana Taylor would go around the neighborhood to take walks as her form of exercise and greet everyone —people, dogs, cats, even birds and butterflies! She would say hello to them in her colorful fur jacket, bright yellow skirt, wide brim hat and huge white sunglasses. She also religiously would check the newspaper, not to be updated with the things happening, but to check the lottery winning numbers. In exchange of giving the wandering homeless man a cup of tea and slice of bread, she would ask him to give her a stone, then she would bury it in the garden. Nana Taylor believes that homeless man’s stones are _lucky charms_ that would turn into money in the future.

I also met Michael and Arthur’s other and younger cousins, Alice and Ursula. And their old-maid aunt, Aunt Maggie.

What happened this afternoon, in the same kitchen, is a secret that will stay between Arthur, Michael, and I.

“Store’s a bit slow today, huh?” Michael said, waiting for me to roll the dice. Cups of coffee on the table along with the Monopoly board, we’re both in the bakery, listening to the sound of rain outside with a fitting song of Ethel Waters singing about stormy weather in the background.

It was the first week of summer break. Michael’s not getting paid to watch the store yet he’s here with me. I have a feeling that he and Jane haven’t made up yet. Michael said it wasn’t a huge deal but… I don’t know.

Right now, I’m just happy he’s here with me.

My eyes drifted to the glass windows. The rain blurring out the faces of people passing by outside. Then back to the gorgeous boy sitting across me.

Michael is looking at the board, allowing me to look and admire his face. I don’t know how, why and when… but I just feel so warm inside whenever I’m with him. And there’s this certain joy I can’t explain.

“Are you planning to draw a card or?”

I blinked, looking at the dice. “Oh...sorry.”

“You’ve been acting odd lately, Eddie.” 

“What?” I tried to hide the sudden nervousness that I’m feeling.

Michael leaned back and crossed his slightly veiny arms from playing cricket. “Something bothering you?”

 _‘You are bothering my thoughts…’_ I wish to say that to him outloud. 

“It’s nothing, Mike,” forcing a small smile, I tucked the _‘Get out of jail:Free’_ card under my cup. “Just a bit sleepy, I guess.”

“What kept you up last night?” he asked, rolling the dice.

_Thinking about you. About us… being together. Me imagining things…_

“Lots of things,” I said vaguely. 

“What?” Michael smirked. “Books and pussies?” 

The bakery’s door suddenly swung open, making the shopkeepers bell ring. An elderly gentleman in a dark trench coat and scarf appeared with a brunette young woman dressed in the same fashion, walked in with the same slightly worried look in their faces.

Michael and I immediately stood up. “Hello!”

“Uhhh… _exkyuuse_ _mee_ ,” the girl started hesitantly. “We’re ...uhhh… _buhs_?”

“Sorry?” Michael’s bows furrowed a little.

“Bus… uhhh.. find... _ride_ …” she then showed us a card that has writings in it. 

By the way she talks, I figured out that she doesn’t speak English. 

After reading the card, Michael lets out a gasp and asks, “Ah! _Parlez-vous français?_ ”

He’s speaking in French, I think. After that, the girl’s face lit up and so did the older man. I noticed that he was slightly shivering, so I offered him a cup of coffee and placed it in the disposable cup. The man accepted it gratefully.

Hearing Michael speak fluently in French just made him more attractive in my eyes.

The pair bought two slices of black buns as a _‘Thank You’,_ then left afterwards. When we sat back down, Michael was smiling at me. “That was nice of you to offer them free drinks.”

“And it was nice of you to help them with the direction,” I smiled back, trying not to blush. “I didn’t know that you speak French well.”

“My other Nan is half-French. She taught my mother. So then, Mum taught me.”

I noticed a sad expression quickly crossed Michael’s face. Maybe, suddenly remembering memories of his mother.

“Can you teach me then?” I asked, watching him sip his coffee.

Swallowing the drink, Michael did not answer right away. He got an ‘8’. After counting on the board, his iron token landed on my property with two houses. “Ah! Bugger!”

“Pay up,” I said jokingly, greedily showed my palm to him.

Playfully shooting a glare at me, Michael took his paper money and slapped it on the table, making me laugh.

“Well, Eddie, you have to pay me back if I were to give you French lessons.”

“Can’t you do it for free?”

“Hmm...if you’re looking for something that I could teach you for free...” with a naughty smirk curling up his face, Michael suddenly grabbed my arm that was about to reach the dice. “... how about I teach you how to French _kiss_?”

“What!?” retracting my arm back forcefully, the table shook almost knocking my cup. “Shut up, mate!”

Michael, who is _obviously_ joking, guffawed at my expression. 

“You’re such a twat,” I said, chucking a die on him.

“Sorry! I’ve seen you and your girl kiss… and I’m just saying you need some lessons to make you a _better_ kisser if you want to bed her.”

I felt so offended by that. “For your information, Lizzie and I had already shagged, multiple times!”

I wasn’t expecting to see Michael’s dumbstruck reaction after I told him that. “W-Wow, Eddie… you’re different than I imagined you to be…”

As if given with an invisible power over him at the moment, I said coolly, “I don’t really need lots of lessons for _that_ department. Thank you very much.”

Picking up the die that rolled down the cemented floor, Michael raised his shoulders with an impressed look on his face. 

There’s a playful twinkle in his eyes when he told me, “Perhaps, _you_ should teach me then.”

  
  
  


──────────── · · · · ✦ · · · · ────────────

**_July 30, 1939_ **

After helping Michael with the morning deliveries, we’ve decided to rest at Peckham Rye and settled ourselves on the park’s slightly brownish green grass. We left our bikes by the nearby crack willow tree. The weather today is rather dull; a combination of dry Spring and wet late Autumn.

Arthur had already left to Leicester last week and will be back by the end of August.

I watched him quietly as Michael took the newspaper from his jacket’s pocket, he checked the lottery winning numbers, then neatly folded it back.

 **‘Hickman takes over McMillan!’** The headline said in bold print. Along with it was a printed black and white photo of a man; the man named Hickman, I guess. 

“Did you know that that man used to beg for Lord Fitzalan-Howard to be one of his benefactors when he was still starting his business?” Michael pointed Mr. Hickman’s photo.

“By Lord Fitzalan-Howard, you mean Nana Taylor’s last husband?”

“Yes,” Michael nodded, fishing for his cigarette in his trousers pocket.

Curiously, I skimmed through the pages and followed the article. “There’s another photo of him and his daughter at this fancy party.”

“Is she pretty?”

“Yes, I would say so,” drawing the page closer to my face, my eyes on the young girl dressed in an evening gown. She has a small face, almond shaped eyes and nice smile. The journalist wrote that the girl’s name is ‘Winifred’ on the caption. She’s 14.

Michael looked over after taking a puff. He slightly frowned, “Nah! She looks rather plain to me.”

I mentally rolled my eyes. _‘The plain one here is your girlfriend’._

“But she’s rich so… that should be a compensation?” 

“Whatever,” smiling, I placed the newspaper back in its place. 

Together, we watched the children happily playing at the park’s paddling pool in comfortable silence.

It was Michael who broke the silence. “Eddie?”

“Yes, Mike?”

Sighing, he told me with sad eyes, “I’m going back to Truro tomorrow.”

I felt my heart sinking at the pit of my stomach. “I? What? I don’t under—?”

“Don’t worry, mate. I’ll be back before school starts,” he told me with an assuring tone. “It was an abrupt decision, I know.”

_But we already made plans for this vacation! We’re supposed to go fishing and trips! He said he’ll let me hangout with him and his other friends! I’m supposed to take him to these abandoned houses and buildings. We already made plans..._

“I’m sorry, Eddie,” Michael apologized softly, reading my disappointed reaction so clearly. “I just have to fix some personal stuff back home. I hope you understand.”

I do understand but I don’t _want_ to understand. 

Keeping my lips together, my eyes did the talking and betrayed me. One by one, tears started to roll down. I could taste a bitter taste in my mouth as I stubbornly wipe them with the sleeves of my cardigan.

“Hey…” Michael wrapped his arm around my shoulders as he comforted me. “Why are you crying like that, mate? I’m not going to war or something.”

“But…”

“And we’ll write letters to each other, right?”

Pressing my face against his chest, Michael strongly smelled like the bread we just delivered with a whiff of cigarette. I couldn’t stop crying, worst it even turned into choking sobs. Thankfully, I was able to pull myself together after a while. I wiped my tear-stricken face with my hankie that also strongly smelled like pastries.

“Better?” Michael asked, inspecting my face. His hand slightly raised my chin to look at me in a better angle.

Sniffing, I nodded mutely. Not able to do eye-contact.

His hand lingered on my face; his eyes on me. And when I finally had the confidence to look at him, I found a tearful Michael smiling back at me. “You make me feel that I’m loved. Thank you, Edmund.”

My lips parted, but no voice came out. So, with all my courage, I wrapped my arms around him. 

This is my chance! I know that I won’t be able to say this to him while looking at him,“I think I’m in love with you, Michael.”

 _There._ I finally said it. I said the words so fast, I was almost tongue tied. Aside from his warmth, I could feel Michael’s fast heartbeat. 

He stayed completely still for a bit. Then he started smoothing my back. “I _know_ that…” 

My heart skipped a beat. _He knows!_ Pulling back, my wide eyes searched Michael’s face. He’s not mad or disgusted. There’s a kind smile on his face even. 

_So that does mean that… he feels the same?_

Our faces are so close to each other. Blood rushing through my ears. I just realized how long and thick his eyelashes are. As I was closing my eyes, anticipating the kiss that we’ll be sharing for the first time—

“But it'll pass, Eddie,” Michael gently untangled himself off of me. “It’ll pass...”

I couldn’t even speak or move. In my head, imaginary Michael is now confessing to me that he loves me back and promises to cherish me.

In reality, the _real_ Michael picked up the newspaper before dropping his cigarette on the ground before stepping on it.

If I were to draw a picture describing how I’m feeling right now, it’s the same image as Michael’s cigarette: crushed in half, its tobacco exposed. Me, crushed in half, my feelings exposed.

“Let’s go back,” Michael told me, in a casual tone, already walking towards our bikes. As if my confession was just a fever dream.

I couldn’t even recognize my voice when I told him, “You go first. I’ll follow.”

But Michael waited for me. He waited for me, that it made me more uncomfortable that I didn't have any choice but to follow him home. 

Half of my brain wants to know what Michael feels and his thoughts right now, after rejecting me: is he sad? Does he pity me? Or does he think I’m crazy because I’m a fucking poof? Or maybe he doesn’t care at all?

With a broken heart, I watch Michael smile at my father as Daddy hands him his pay. Apparently, Michael already told Daddy about his hasty departure before telling me.

When Michael was about to leave the shop, I followed him out. I really want to have a final word with him before he goes back to Truro. 

“Edmund, can you pick up the phone?” Daddy asked me. “I’m sure that’s Mrs. Batten. She made bulk orders for tomorrow.”

Michael and I exchanged a quick glance. “I’ll meet you outside.”

Running upstairs, I answered the phone and impatiently dealt with Mrs. Batten. For an extremely slow person, Mrs. Batten has the audacity to act snotty towards me.

I looked outside the second-floor’s window, checking if Michael was still waiting outside the shop. He is. But he’s no longer alone. 

Kissing a pair of lips that aren’t mine, Michael is locked in an embrace with a girl whom I do not even recognize. It’s not Jane nor Michelle. Once they’ve parted, the girl then led Michael to follow her. And without any hint of hesitation, he complied.

I thought the day that Mummy died was the worst day of my life. I didn’t know that there would be another. I felt like an empty shell after I hung up the phone. 

I didn’t have the courage to see Michael off the next day. I was in a slump that I couldn’t even find the strength to get out of bed. It felt as if I’m about to be sick with an unknown illness. 

The questions that I’ve wanted to ask Michael were left unanswered. That day was the last time we were able to see and talk to each other.

Because little did we know that the second World War is already brewing and it’s about to turn the world upside down.

**Author's Note:**

>  **TRANSLATION:**  
>  * Parlez-vous français? - “Do you speak French?”
> 
> ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈
> 
> Hello~! (☆▽☆) 
> 
> This is the Prequel that nobody asked for but I’M STILL GONNA WRITE IT!!  
> ψ(｀∇´)ψ Why, you ask? Because I LIKE IT and the ideas have been bugging me for quite a while now so I need to let it out my system—here ya go! I’m gonna shove it to your face whether you like it or not! Just kidding v(￣∇￣)v 
> 
> Yes, you’ve read the first Chapter correctly! This Prequel is based on Mr. Edmund’s (Mr. Taylor’s ex-lover and Mrs. Taylor’s Assistant) POV. A collection of his memories of the past till present day ‘Brian and Roger’ #MayLor time.  
> There are many parts in this fic that I did not include in [‘The Prince in the tower‘](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16446098/chapters/38510603)
> 
> and you’ll find answers and explanations that were left unanswered/hanging on ‘The Prince’ fic.
> 
> I hope that you’ll like and support this Prequel fic, too! I’ll appreciate your COMMENTS and KUDOS (´⌣`ʃƪ)
> 
> Take care and stay safe! xoxo


End file.
